Jonathan and Alice
by Twisted Wonderland
Summary: This is Fire and Ice in the more original format it was written.


Hello, my dear readers. It's been ages, hasn't it? Well, this isn't a real story, I'm afraid. I would write, but sadly it isn't my turn to update Fire and Ice and I haven't got anything new to give you quite yet (hopefully I'll be doing a Jonathan x Alice Christmas piece!) but I do have a little something for you to read in the meantime.

Mary, Alice's roleplayer, and I decided not too long back that we were going to roleplay the story arch over again, from the beginning. The entirity of the first two scenes can be shown below - I believe it's where we're up to in Fire and Ice itself, simply in roleplay format. I thought you all might enjoy reading the original form, which is likely superior to the story format.

Remember that Alice is Mary and Jonathan is me.

Enjoy!

**A**lice had come to accept the familiar tug in her stomach, the way that she simply felt when something inside herself that needed to know.

**B**ut never in her life had she felt this almost frantic need to find what had drawn her attention. It had been a white blur. Alice has at first, not registered it- but upon her looking back - she found herself gazing at a muddied white feline. Tattered fur streaked with dirt and grime, it's front paw was held so tightly to its body that she wasn't sure if the cat actually had all four legs. Face softening, Alice was quick to veer back- fighting her way through the bustling midday crowd of Gotham City, with her mind set on only one thing. Trumble would undoubtedly enjoy the company of another cat, and the poor dear looked horrendously malnourished. Just as quickly as she had begun to kneel down- the stay darted away with surprising speed.

**A**lice stumbled to her feet, her shoes rat-ta-tat-tatting as she raced after the animal.** "Come here, my friend.."** The dark-haired woman called after it, trying desperately to catch up.

**S**he wasn't entirely sure when she started to realize that she was nowhere near where she had began, but she knew that it had been some time since she had lost sight of the cat. Alice found herself shoving her hands into her coat pockets, it was growing chilly- the clouds overhead rumbling in a disgruntled fashion. Tilting her chin upwards, she looked to the darkened gloom overhead. Scuffling her shoes absently, she couldn't help but note the cracked pavement, broken windows, and broken people. She knew at once, she was in the Narrows. Teenage mothers lingering near the curbs, puffing on cigs- while groups of darkly clad men lingered suspiciously near doorways. Turning down an alley, the Fitch woman stepped carefully over an unconscious man, bottle in hand. Blinking, she found herself gazing once more at the cat that had lead her here. Her feet picking up their pace upon the dirty tarmac, which was littered with old issues of the Gotham Times, she rounded a corner after the feline.

**S**he didn't know what came first, the slight pain, or the realization that her own frame had collided roughly with that of a larger body. Squeaking, she stumbled back- unable to keep from glancing around for the cat once more, before she found herself looking up at a vaguely familiar face.

**L**ike a dream of a dream, or perhaps, a nightmare within a nightmare

Honestly, work in the Narrows was exceedingly tiresome. At least the current laboratory that he'd secured wasn't a dismal one – quite the contrary, actually. It was an old hospital that, while it wasn't quite in the Narrows, was pretty close, and avoided detection most of the time. The rooms were ideal for keeping… "patients", and experimentations were easily contained. So far, results were not particularly reassuring (such as the case of some of the chemicals practically melting away someone's face, which had been a terrible mess) but it was a fascinating chore to undertake, so his complaints were not so forthcoming. Often days were filled with constant work, however, without any progress at all. This wasn't to be one of those days, due to needing new test subjects, so he found himself relaxing. The street was, of course, empty, and he had no hesitation to walk down it, although his hands inside his pockets were delicate in fingering the mask that lingered just inside. (It never hurt to be too careful, right?)

Gaze lifting to cast higher above him, towards the windows of the nearby buildings, he almost didn't notice the figure just around the corner. She was slim and short, certainly far shorter than him, with dark brown hair that flowed around a heart-shaped face. The picture of innocence – just what exactly was she doing on a dingy street like this? The predator in Jonathan could hardly pass by such easy pickings. So he simply let himself bump into her, jostling her smaller form. It was a very effective form of initial intimidation. **"Good afternoon." **He paused, with all the mock of pleasantry. **"I can't help but notice that you seem a little out of place on this street."**

**T**here was something that felt like fate in the feeling that had suddenly taken over her small form. She suddenly felt very nervous- like standing in front of a crowd, or seeing a particularly nasty car crash. Not knowing what to do, but _needing_ desperately needing to do _something._

**S**he stared up at the strange man before her. He was considerably taller than herself, though his build was not particularly imposing- it was something else. Something more sinister behind his celestially cold eyes. Alice took half-a-step backwards, her foot catching on an abandoned issue of The Gotham Times- causing her to slip only slightly further back. She kept her eyes firmly fixated on the figure before her- and at once- she knew why she felt frightened. It wasn't exactly his eyes, but more the way they examined her- raking over her features, like appraising a potential meal. Looking for a mistake, an opening to strike- and all at once, Alice felt too much like prey for her own comfort. Shifting, she attempted to gain more distance between their forms.

**"My..husband."** She announced, trying her best to keep her voice even- confident, even. She failed with her next sentence. **"H..He's...coming to..to pick me up, I just...called him."** Alice didn't bother with the false pleasantries, staring at him quietly. She wasn't entirely sure why she lied, or why she felt the need to avert her eyes while doing so- perhaps she was frightened that those icy eyes might catch the glimmer of fear that kept ghosting through her eyes. The Fitch woman lifted her face once more, doing her best to maintain eye contact- though- she couldn't help but glance at his hands, hidden in his pockets.

**T**here was something that felt too much like fate for Alice. Something that tickled at the back of her brains, telling her that this moment was going to severely alter her life- if not end it altogether.

Jonathan couldn't resist glancing downwards at the paper that the woman had slipped on. It was a recent issue of the Gotham Times, the front page (naturally) proclaiming something or another about one of the Bat Family (the curves indicated that it was probably Batgirl, but hell if he could keep up with those flying rodents). He instantly felt the faint flash of irritation he always did at seeing a paper that didn't have his face somewhere inside of it. This was surprisingly often, but perhaps it was a good thing - after all, it wasn't like he could dedicate his life to his research if it was his mug shot in the paper. A front page display highlighting his breakthroughs in the psychology of fear... Now that would be a different story altogether, and one he would enjoy reading. Perhaps he should look into that. Surely it wouldn't be too hard to kidnap a writer for the paper?

But all of this thought happened within the course of a few seconds, his mind also processing her words. A husband? A quick flash of his icy blue eyes told him that there was no wedding ring on her finger. That, of course, didn't mean everything. Maybe she was having an affair. That would explain why she was in the Narrows in the first place, and it would certainly explain her nervous attitude. Not that he wasn't an intimidating figure, particularly in comparison to her slight frame. He towered at least a foot over her.

It was her apparent fear, however, that drew him in. After all, the good doctor was in need of test patients, and this diminutive female was so very like a mouse that he felt it would be an utter shame to let her go to waste. That's what rats were for, right? His head tilted just slightly to the side and his lips pulled upwards in a smirk that might be mistaken for a warm smile if you were mostly blind. **"Why don't you let me escort you out of here? A woman like you shouldn't be alone in the middle of the Narrows. I'm sure your husband will appreciate my generosity."**

Even as he spoke his hands were shifting inside his pockets, fingers gripping the mask that was folded so carefully. His toxin was, naturally, on his wrist and out of view thanks to the sleeves that extended past his bony joint and covered it so well. All it would take would be an explosion of movement.

It would all be over in less than a minute. As soon as he felt like he'd intimidated her enough. The only thing that was irritating him was the fact that she hadn't seemed to recognize who he was yet. And that _bothered_ Jonathan Crane. Everyone should know who the master of fear was. Everyone. Even tiny, mousy, idiotic women wandering down alleyways. Especially tiny, mousy, idiotic women wandering down alleyways. The hand that wasn't wrapped around the mask extended outwards in what would seem like a welcoming gesture. **"Come now, miss. Let's be sensible about this."**

She kept her eyes locked on him, convinced that if she wavered for even a second that he'd attack. Despite his lanky frame, Alice was quite positive that he could overpower her with little struggle. She tried desperately to recall moves from the various infomercials about self-defense. The eyes and the groin? The knees? Maybe it was the toes, for all she knew. Was she supposed to run...or go with him? No, no, that wasn't right. That was Stockholm Syndrome setting in already. Dark eyes shifting, they focused on his hands- they were wriggling and moving in his pockets. He was speaking once more, and Alice sucked in her breath too quickly- her gaze returning to his face.

His smile. Too much like the Cheshire Cat's for her comfort, seemed too forced, too...excited. He hardly seemed able to hold still, hands writhing- gripping some sort of weapon undoubtedly, his whole form seemed to waver with anticipation. Alice's knees seemed to lock, her body shutting down with fear..and she found herself flinching at every movement that he made, however slight. His words seemed like they should make sense...she should trust him, her husband (however imaginary) would appreciate it...

No, she reminded herself. No. **"I'm quite fine, thank you."** She said, turning her body fractionally away from him- her eyes fluttering around their surroundings. Looking for an escape. Anything. Nobody would come to her aid if she screamed. She'd simply have to run. And as if in slow motion, his thin hand drifted towards her- eyes scrutinizing her carefully. She needed something unexpected. And so, she did the only thing that seemed illogical. She attacked.

Grabbing his hand firmly, she yanked it- bringing his frame suddenly closer. And just as suddenly, she brought her knee up- forcing it roughly into his groin before pushing away. Turning, Alice Fitch ran, knowing that ultimately- she would be caught.

Jonathan loved to watch the varying degrees of emotion flash across her face. It was like a changing kaleidoscope, but within a certain spectrum. Almost like limiting the colors to just shades of blue, she contained varying degrees of wariness and fear. It was a river to a thirsting man, and he drank in her emotion like he should. Any moment now she would make her decision and either accept his hand (which would obviously be a bad move) or try to run. And unlike some, Jon really didn't mind when they ran. He enjoyed the chase. As long as they didn't get away, naturally. But he doubted she would. He could easily overtake her if she did choose to run.

And he was right. There it was, that moment of movement. Her words dismissed him and she started to move (it was surprisingly slow to be running away). Her steps led him to start to withdraw his burlap mask, the rough texture the most familiar and comforting thing that he had ever grasped. The mask was like a perfect solution to all of his problems, to everything he'd ever needed to overcome in his lifetime.

The few seconds it took for him to pull out his alternate persona, however, had her moving quicker than he'd anticipated. With a flash she had struck him in his groin and instantly he was doubled over in pain, his lips set in a fierce snarl. And then she was running. It was extremely difficult to try to even stand, but the fury pounding in his head wasn't going to let her get away. **"You can run!"** His wheezing voice called after her with menace. **"But you can't hide."**

As soon as he thought he could breathe evenly enough he pulled his mask on and was pursuing her, his feet thudding heavily against the ground. And he was quickly gaining on her, just as he'd anticipated he would. Within the span of fifteen or so seconds he was just behind her, and a few more put him beside her. Two more steps and he was in front of the slight figure, lifting his arms to block her. Again, Alice Fitch collided with his body, but this time her fall would be far more injuring. A flick of his finger had the gas rolling out towards her, the particles invoking a color close to a green-brown shade.

**"Sleep well, little mouse."**

Her breath kept catching painfully in her throat- never enough fully entering her lungs. Only just enough to keep her gasping nervously. She couldn't look behind her- it was enough to hear his ragged breath echoing in the painful quiet that suddenly took possession of the alley. His words chilled her to the very bone, extinguishing any hope that she might have had that she would escape. _You can run, but you can't hide.._ It screamed over and over in her head, telling her that her life was over, that she was going to fall prey to the monster behind her in a matter of seconds. Run, she begged her feet, faster.. Somehow- she felt like perhaps it would be more likely for her to sprout wings and fly away. She was not escaping. Not in one piece. Not alive.

He was closer to her now, it felt as though he had already caught her- yet, she continued to run. The animalistic instinct yanking her forward. Alice Fitch had never known any particular God as her own, but she found herself praying desperately to any and all of them. _Just let me live._ She would be a better person, she would become a nun, anything...she just wanted so desperately to live. Her heart beat too rapidly, and she was reminded of catching canaries as a child- the poor things would beat themselves to death on their cages...perhaps her heart would simply...stop. It would beat itself too violently against her ribcage and she would die..

**"Please!" **It was the only thing she could think of uttering when at last the skeleton-like man overtook her. Her body ran, with full force, into his- and she found herself stumbling backwards - her vision blurring. But there wasn't any pain. No, he wasn't stabbing her..or even grabbing her arm.

Alice had no clue that there was something worse than bodily pain.

Gasping as the toxins were released, they quickly slept into her body- She screamed. Never had Alice screamed so loudly or so much. Because never had Alice known true terror until she had fell into the hands of the Fabricator of Fear.

There was really nothing more wonderful than the sound of sobbing and screaming. To Jonathan, it said _I am afraid. I am afraid of you. I am afraid because you have done something. Please figure out why I am afraid._ And that was what Jonathan lived. He lived to pick people apart and solve the puzzle that was their minds. He wanted to know why they feared and what could be done to learn more about it. Other psychologists might would contemplate that it was due to his own fear-ridden childhood that he held such a compulsion, but the good doctor didn't pause a moment to self-reflect. Self-reflection was for tragic heroes like The Bat. He was better than that. He was the Scarecrow.

And Alice's position on the ground was giving way to a wonderful example of the embodiment of fear. Her body writhed with it, curled with it, her breaths a mix of shaking air and desperation. Jon was content to just watch her for a moment or two, a smirk curling on his face even as he rested (he still was aching in certain unmentionable places that he would be sure to torture her for later) before he pulled the mask off his face. The gas was clearing from the air now, most of it either dispersed or blended (nearby residents would feel a certain sense of paranoia for the rest of the day) and it was safe to breath, at least for Dr. Crane who had certainly already grown immune. A few moments of examination of his surroundings procured a pair of shoelaces from a discarded set of shoes, and they were promptly used to bind her arms and legs. Nothing more was needed, her own emotions keeping her paralyzed well enough. His lanky figure easily bent to lift her from the ground, even as she wiggled in his arms.

A flash in the corner of his eye startled him for a moment, but it was only a white cat, dirty and ragged, a mouse dangling in its jaws.

Hours passed and he merely watched her. He watched her with his careful eyes behind those careful glasses and wrote careful notes that would be carefully examined later on in the more careful hours of the day. And perhaps a more sentimental person would have had difficulties watching the tears that began to fall and hearing the cries that escaped her delicate lips time and time again, begging and pleading to her unknown captor. After all, she couldn't see due to the toxin's effects, and her pain was tripled for it. His research had found that even those who didn't suffer from claustrophobia didn't like being rendered blind.

A quick examination of her belongings had him discovering her name. Alice Fitch. She seemed like an Alice, recalling her wide-eyed look from earlier. **"In the wrong Wonderland, aren't you?"** He murmured to the woman, whose cries had tapered off into whimpers of pain. There was no further identification except for a business card that spoke of a cleaning service. Perhaps she was a maid? That served little special interest to him, in all honesty, but he did need a test subject, and waste not want not...

With a liquid movement Jonathan was on his feet and shaking the bed frame with enough force to jostle her awake. After all, she was still bound, and an abrupt meeting with him again might stir her memory a bit. It still vexed him that she hadn't recognized him once - he had seen her puzzlement when he'd gassed her rather than shooting her - and he was intent on changing that. **"Wake up, Miss Fitch."** He cooed in a sickly tone. **"Wake up, wake up, wake up."**

Something cracked overhead, a burning fissure of light breaking through the darkness. It offered very little solace to the woman trapped within the lightlessness that seemed to press painfully against her ribs, chocking any air out of her lung. Her chest shuddered as she attempted to draw in a breath, though it only came as a labored gasp. And there it was..what had brought her here. The cat. Its white fur almost translucent in the lack of light. It brushed faintly against her ankle- causing her to scream out.. her hands waving wildly in front of her... Another brilliant streak of lightning struck so closely behind her that Alice could feel the heat searing at her back of her neck- biting and tearing roughly at her calves as she raced after the feline. Celestial figures formed near her - their hands reaching out to grab at her arms, holding her back..fingers digging into her flesh- her own warm blood pouring down her limbs.

It was almost comforting. Any sort of warmth was welcome in the terror that possessed the world around her. Even if it was her blood. And suddenly, as if she had missed a stair in the dark- Alice was falling. Faster and faster, her stomach clenched as her eyes snapped open. There was no end in the darkness, and Alice was sure at any moment that she would collide with something in the never-ending eclipse. Alice screamed until she was sure that the warmth in her throat was more blood, pouring, trickling down her esophagus.

Her body writhed upon the good doctor's table, trembling and jerking about as she desperately attempted to slow her fall in her toxin-induced nightmares. Her whole world shook, and for a moment- the Fitch woman was sure that she had died. She had crashed into the middle of the Earth and was burning into nothing. Her eyes snapped open, as did her mind. There was light. Painfully and flickering dully overhead. Alice wondered briefly if she had made it to Heaven at last. Even death would have been a relief from the darkness. A voice, not her own. Commanding her to wake up. Jerking slightly, the dark-haired woman tried helplessly to come back to full consciousness- the demons from her night terrors still pulling at her..

Eyes coming into focus now, lashes fluttering as she adjusted to the flood of painfully hued light- her brows rolled down. A man stood over her, so horrifically familiar that she found herself shaking once more...her movement impaired due to what felt like restraints. He held a clipboard in his hands, gazing ever-so-serenely over his glasses at her. At once, the woman knew that she hated his smirk. The way he looked so pleased with himself. The way he stood above her. Her own smile pulled at her lips, a sense of calmness flowing gently over Alice...

**"What's up, Doc?"** She purred, hoarsely.

It was entrancing to watch her stir from her sleep, adjusting to the setting around her. Even as she blinked herself into wakefulness Jonathan could tell that she wasn't all there, still trying to establish exactly where she was. What was even more wonderful was when her eyes fell on him, and watching the emotion that shifted through them. It was absolutely fascinating to watch her eyes. They were like a window to her emotions (he didn't believe in silly things like souls) and like watching an artist paint and repaint a canvass again and again. It was the best piece of art he'd ever seen, and he was the most brilliant critic.

Her greeting, however, filled him with a mixture of feeling himself. First he thought that maybe she had remembered who he was. That was good for her (except not really) and perhaps would mean he could get straight to the point. That was before he realized that he probably looked like a doctor anyways, standing there observing her. What a shame. Second was his annoyance at her assertive attitude. Patients were typically either cowering or aggressive, and she wasn't either. He didn't like that. In his mind, she should be begging. And rage was sufficient as well, since rage was usually a mask for something deeper.

Granted, she was trembling, and that would have to do for now, although it could merely be the aftereffects of his toxin. Where had the timid mouse disappeared to?

**"Hello, Miss Fitch. Welcome back to Wonderland."** Jonathan hoped that the combination of the two statements would reassure her that he knew exactly who she was. After all, strangers knowing the unknown tended to unnerve normal people. But maybe she wasn't normal. It was hard to tell. **"I'm afraid Mr. Fitch is going to be very disappointed when you aren't where you told him you would be. What a disobedient wife you are."**

Her heart was racing, far too quickly for comfort, though- she was sure that it was only from the traces of the strange chemicals still parading through her veins. She kept her eyes focused on the man, studying his face that was so...familiar. The fingers of her brain reaching out for his name- for surely she had read it, seen it, heard it...talked about it, perhaps. Alice closed her eyes only briefly, and at once- the news print jumped out at her. Her mind tried to hold the image, delicately, tenderly- as it tried to process it, focus it, make sense of it. _Former Arkham Psychologist.  
_Her brains continued to probe the vague image, searching it desperately for what she so desired. She could remember the Press Conference on him, the police chief was so adamant about him.. He was experienced in a form of fighting called 'violent dancing', a former psychologist...obsessed.

_Jonathan Crane. _

The words sounded deceitfully smooth inside of her head.. Her eyes opened once more, long lashes drifting slowly upwards as she looked over him- slowly. Something in side of her was so...calm. Even as her brain was shouting that more horrors were going to unfold, and she could not wake from them- something else dulled those thoughts, soothed them away. It was a competition. He wanted to see her frightened- and Alice so hated being told to do anything. **"What a feeble Wonderland, what is a fantasy land without...**_**color**_**, Doctor Crane?"** Dark irises fixated firmly upon him, she did her best not to squirm- but she did want to assess the room. And escapes, though she knew there would be none.

He was talking again, almost like a disapproving parent- gazing down over her as he tsk'd about her imaginary husband. Blinking, she huffed. **"Shouldn't you be calling me Misses Fitch, if you truly believed that I had a husband?"** Alice seemed to care very little for the fact that he had discovered her name, a name was just a name, a title. Her eyes, rather like those of a doe, gazing around.. she couldn't help but note the stains on the ceiling. The rather resembled bloodstains. She said nothing. **"It is rather rude to not only assault a woman, but abduct her without even a proper introduction.."** She announced, looking to him pointedly.

It was beautiful, really, to watch her face. Not beautiful in a physical way, no (although she was attractive, but Jonathan wasn't quite to registering facts like that yet), but in a transfixing way. The woman displayed her emotions like a movie screen. And her tone... The way she spoke to him was fascinating as well. So assertive, not even minding that she could very likely die from this encounter. If she did mind, it only showed in the slight tremble left in her body, but the good doctor mused that it might very well be the remnants of the toxin left in her system. Gas her again, or let her remain?

**"I've never been one for color. Besides, the point of Carroll's work was that Alice had gone from a dreary world to a festive one. You seem festive enough yourself."** His gaze took in her bright blue dress. **"You needed just the reversal, I think."** Dr. Crane liked Lewis Carroll well enough. It opened up great avenues to the process into adulthood and, besides, he didn't mind a good read every now and again as long as it provided his sort of entertainment.

Her comment about her husband confirmed his suspicions that there was no Mr. Fitch waiting for her at home. She chose to use the words 'if there was', casting a hypothetical light on the sentence. Therefore, her statement was false. No man to steal her away. Not that most men would, of course. **"You're not wearing a ring, Miss Fitch. And your nervous tone from earlier indicated that either you were involved in disastrous affair, or you didn't have a husband at all. Call it guesswork, if you would like, but you're far too easy to read. Almost a disappointment."** He smirked at her.

**"Also, I didn't know there was protocol for such things. Perhaps I should be better informed."** The smirk grew deeper, reaching a level of cold amusement in his eyes. **"I'm Doctor Jonathan Crane. I specialize in fear."**

His eyes. They were perhaps the one thing that struck fear into every tissue of Alice's frame. Any man could wield a gun, or carry a knife. Any man could push smaller beings around, and tower over them. Yet, beyond his height, Jonathan was no more imposing than..perhaps a bird. No, it was his eyes, much like a bird's- calculating and intelligent beyond what they exposed. They were chillingly without color, spare for the lightest pigment of blue. Cadaverous and yet, painfully scrutinizing- she met his gaze with a strange fire that seemed to burn from some unknown source inside of her. Her lips turned upwards at the edge, though only faintly. He had freckles. Barely noticeable, splayed across the bridge of his nose.

**"Alice's world was festive enough.."** She corrected him, with a tsk of her tongue against the roof of her mouth. **"She was simply too young to realize its beauty.."** He spoke of her 'needing' a reversal, and her brows dipped- and she found herself wanting to turn her shoulder to the man. **"For things to truly be dreary, you'd have to be absent, Doc.."** Alice purred, **"Your conversation is muuuch to lively."** She giggled quietly at her own joke- looking over him. **" Where am I?"** was soon inquired as she looked over the walls, the thick, white paint chipping near the corners, the ceiling tiles also in bad shape- several containing holes and various stains.

Her eyes remained on him as he rambled on about how he had cleverly deduced that she was unwed. Alice found herself growing more amused with his strangely pompous nature. She supposed very few of his victims challenged him- for a feat like noticing the lack of a wedding ring was hardly something to be boasted about. **"Or perhaps, it was because I was being stopped by some run-of-the-mill maniac in the Narrows."** Her voice resembled that of bells chiming in the morning, crisp and cool- floating through the air. Run-of-the-Mill. She flashed a bright smile at the man, he was anything but, mind you. Gotham did know how to drive people _crazy_, and those loons sure did know how to make your life difficult. The tragic beauty was not lost on Alice.

**"What is it you're afraid of, Doctor Crane?"** Her eyes floated around the room, though her mind remained on the pale man. She twisted her wrists uncomfortably, unable to note the thinness of her restraints. Shoelaces, perhaps? **"You must be afraid of many things...to call yourself a specialist in fear."**

Jonathan was torn as to whether he liked her contradicting him or not. It made for fascinating conversation, but at the same time, he didn't ever like being told that he was wrong, and that was precisely what she was doing. He paused in his conversation to observe her with curiosity that wasn't nearly as blatant as hers, the smirk on his lips fading into a line of contemplation. The trembling mouse had disappeared now, but she still reminded him of one, albeit one observant and keen. _Maybe more like a dormouse._ He mused, enjoying the parallels to Wonderland that she seemed just as eager to parry.

**"Whether she could appreciate the beauty or not, the story remains the same. I assume we're familiar with the same work of literature, Miss Fitch."** Her remark about his lively conversation was curious, but more likely than not she was being sarcastic, although the sparkle in her eyes left much up to the imagination. It wasn't surprising that she wanted to know where she was, most captives did, and he decided that it wouldn't hurt to give her a general idea of it. **"We're in the Narrows. At my private facility."** That was true enough. Even if most of Gotham failed to acknowledge his licensure, he still addressed himself with it, and any building could be his facility, ownership be damned.

Was she... Was she smiling? Now that would serve to irritate Jonathan Crane, even if nothing else would. She wasn't supposed to be smiling, she was supposed to be cowering with fear, or at least being respectful, and he got the explicit idea that she was smiling at him. He clenched his jaw, eyes narrowing in hopes of severing his expression enough to sober her up. Run of the mill, was he? Well, he would just have to prove himself otherwise. **"You're particularly juvenile, Miss Fitch. Just because fear is intriguing to me doesn't mean I possess many of them. Besides,"** His smooth smirk returned, his superiority reigning once again thanks to feeling confident in his answer, although it was much crueler than before, **"I managed to subdue you and keep you under for hours thanks to the power of fear. Why on earth would you presume to think that I would tell you mine?"** Silly girl, really.

She watched him, carefully, a subtle symphony of emotions playing just under his expression. It was like watching the movement of currents under the surface of water. Glimmering and flowing much deeper than they let on, Alice found herself utterly perplexed by the man. His head jerked ever so slightly, the light reflecting wrathfully one his glasses- she had angered him. How interesting- he wasn't nearly as good at hiding his anger. Her lips quirked up once more, and she wriggled her wrists once more- trying to pull them free. The restraints were terribly uncomfortable, and she was growing annoyed at being unable to move as she pleased. Her thin, elegant wrists twisted only a few more times- before she managed to slip one out. A triumphant smile soon spread across her face- her eyes remaining on the Crane man as she rolled her hands a few times, working the tender flesh. A thin line of red and purple stretched across the area which had been restrained by the damn shoelaces.

Able to sit up fully now, Alice leaned down to untie the laces that held her knees and ankles together. At his words, she looked around- before nodding. There were no windows, so she really had no way of verifying his words. Though, the condition of the room seemed like that one that might be found in the Narrows. **"I thought doctors were supposed to be well-to-do."** She mused aloud, stretching out her newly freed legs. Standing, she arched her back briefly- glad to be able to move. She felt stiff, as if she hadn't moved for days, though- for all she knew, the former could be true. Sliding off the table, she walked casually to the door, wriggling the doorknob. Well, it really was worth a try.

Twirling back to face the doctor, she wrinkled his nose at his displeased expression and words. **"How am I ever going to develop Stockholm with you being such a stickler?"** She huffed, running her hand back through her hair as she looked around- wondering quietly just how close she was to the edge of the building. Maybe she could dig her way out...if only she could acquire a spoon. Her eyes locked sharply onto him, and she shrugged. **"For somebody who had, undoubtedly, been wronged by the world- you aren't very fair.."**

Jonathan was quite sure he that he couldn't hide the look of amazed irritation at the diminutive woman as she pulled herself free of her restraints and began to wander around the room. She possessed an air as if she knew exactly where she was and exactly what she was doing. He didn't like it. At all. It was grating on his nerves, and there was no possible way that she hadn't noticed. She was exceedingly sharp to be a victim. That would have to change. But for now, he allowed his piercing glare to be enough reprimand as he answered her questions. **"Since you seem to recognize who I am, you would understand that my colleges don't agree that I am of the same stature. They're sorely mistaken, of course, and will correct themselves with time."**

The doctor stood to his fullest height, towering at least a foot over the female who was drifting around him. **"I have no intention of you developing Stockholm's. That would indicate that I had an intention to keep you around, which I certainly do not. Your full intention, in fact, is to remain here as long as I need your services, then you will be dispatched of."** There was nothing that could sober a person, he had found, than the hovering threat that their lives on earth wouldn't be quite as long as they had hoped for. However, Alice had already proven herself to be a little different than normal, so he wasn't sure if he would be surprised or not to see how she reacted.

Suddenly, though, her eyes locked on to his and he stiffened considerably at her comment about his past. No. That was a topic that no one touched. He didn't talk about his past. Period. It was a taboo subject, and she had just crossed the line. His shoulders squared and his gaze became much more fierce and much more frozen, his face a total mask of cold fury. **"I don't recall summoning your opinions, Miss Fitch. You would do well to keep your place here; it might extend your life longer than you would think if you could mind your tongue. Not considerably, of course, but enough for a few more days of breathing the air that humans covet so dearly. That's worth something to most people."** He strode past her to the door, procuring the key quickly from around his neck and paused, glancing back at where she stood near her pitiful excuse for a bed. **"Sleep now, if you feel like revisiting your nightmares. Otherwise, feel free to live in this one."**

And then he was gone.


End file.
